Mom to an infant and two special needs stepkids seeks cathartic self-realization through humor.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Let's Just Be Honest

I would like to take a moment to talk about seasonal depression. Let me start by saying what the fuck?

Every year I tell myself I need to deal with this and then I forget by beer:thirty PM (that's beer-teen thirty in military time). But for two days I have been frozen in a mire of anger and self-doubt. The biggest difference this year is having a toddler with a wonderful, vanilla-smelling mass of dark hair in which to bury my face and breath goodness. But I only get that privilege for a few hours a day and the rest of the time I am trying to figure out how to make enough money to survive while wearing star shine and warm fuzzies on my sleeve because, with the exception of dear darling husband, don't I always seem okay?

Meanwhile, this irritating monster of inexplicable shit storm arrives every November to take over my brain. Is this hormonal? Is it hereditary? Are the gods jacking with me as a sick joke? Do I HAVE to relive every humiliating moment of my life off and on for three months every year? I have learned to let these things go over the years, because the thoughts were making me sick and I finally figured out that I did not have to shape my days and personality around these events. Plenty of people remember me as just that person: sharing too much to get attention, being dramatic to get attention, being reckless TO GET ATTENTION. A horrid insecurity has haunted me my whole life - for good reasons. But I learned about six or seven years ago how to think through this stuff better, cope with it on my own terms, and quit telling the whole world my story.

Insert ironic statement here. Yes, I realize that by blogging I am posting information in a public forum about a problem that I am having and it is therefore considered telling the whole world my story. I am going to keep talking about it so maybe it will go away. Maybe I will have some revelation about the cause or cure. Maybe I will just tell you to piss off because I am crabby right now.

I really am not that person anymore. I am quieter, a bit reserved (enough to be able to hold my tongue when appropriate), and do not expend energy analyzing others' problems to make myself look good. If you can't get that image of me out of your head, I understand. I often can't either.

I know others go through this. I know I don't want to add any more drugs to my regimen. And if one more person tells me to get a light box I am going to scream and throw things. Can you just suggest a good bottle of wine? Better yet, just mail it to me?

KnowMe

I have a baby and a brain and an opinion. I like long sentences and walks on the beach. I haven't kept a journal for ages. I think I really need this. I'm not sure you do. Turn back now if you object to boobs or poop or tree-hugging liberalism.